Disclaimer: I own nothing.


OMG I am SO SORRY for the long wait! I didn't have the next chapter ready, and then real life got crazy, my daughter spilled something on my keyboard, and I just got a new one. I swear, I will never make you wait this long ever again!

Now, Sherlock experience his first kiss! XD Will Annabelle be the making of Sherlock Holmes, or will she only break his heart?

Sit back and find out!

Love always,

Avoline


It was three days time before he called her again. He felt horrible for having to wait so long, but he had been asked to consult on a case, and that alone took up so much of his time. Any free time he had, he knew she would be asleep or at work. His throat went dry as he dialed her number.

"Sherlock," she answered, a hint of fear in her voice.

"I am so sorry, Annabelle," he apologized. "I was asked to consult on a case, and it took up so much of my time. I should have told-"

"So that was you," she questioned.

"What?"

"How did you not notice? Sherlock, that was my next door neighbor! You have no clue how many times I thought of you these past three days!" He let out a sigh of relief.

"So you're not angry," he inquired.

"Hell no," she replied. "The whole time I kept thinking, 'If only Sherlock were on the case. They would have this figured out by now!'" He laughed.

"It's kinda tough getting that dull lot to listen to me," he confessed. "They don't like it when an outside source can solve the case faster than their own."

"Their loss," she stated simply. "I'm off all day if you want to hang out." He grinned.

"Would you mind if I brought my violin?"


He looked around as he entered the flat. There were still boxes everywhere, telling him that she had yet to find time to unpack. She probably had all the essentials put away or at least out where she could get to them, but the flat still lacked her touch. Aside from the piano against one wall, all trace of her personality were absent.

That would never do.

"Annabelle," he called. "How about I help you unpack before we start playing the instruments?" She stuck her head out of the kitchen, a small smile on her face.

"As much as I would appreciate the help, I couldn't ask you to do that," she answered.

"Nonsense," he retorted, setting his violin case on the couch. "John and I were unpacked within a few weeks, but we had the help of each other. You've got me now. No reason why I shouldn't help." He straightened up and met her gaze. "So, where do we start?" She laughed a bit.

"I was hoping you could tell me."


He grinned as he placed the last trinket on the mantle. They had managed to empty every box and find somewhere for all of her stuff. She had at least ten of the Breyer's horse figurines, some small, some large, a collection of coins from around the world, and a very nice set of cookware.

"Thank you," she laughed, bringing in two cups of tea from the kitchen. "I would have never gotten unpacked had it not been for you." He chuckled, accepting one of the cups.

"It was my pleasure," he responded. "I couldn't let you live with all your stuff packed away." She sat on the couch and smiled at him.

"How many songs do you know on the violin," she inquired. He moved the case and sat next to her.

"At least twelve or more," he answered. "Most of them Christmas songs, but I do know a few classics."

"Do you also compose?" He smirked and took a sip of tea.

"Of course."

"Play for me, if it's not too much trouble," she requested. He set his tea on the coffee table and kissed her cheek.

"Never too much trouble."


He pulled the bow across the strings, the sheet music appearing in his mind. He played the instrument as though his life depended on it, pouring his soul into the music. His eyes had been closed since he rested the wooden object against his shoulder, and he focused on two things: playing, and keeping the nervousness at bay.

He wanted this to be perfect.

Who was he kidding? He could nail each note with ease.

So why was playing for her so different from playing with a crowd around?

He forced the questions away and focused on the music, ending with a flourish. His eyelids slid open and met her gaze.

"That was beautiful, Sherlock," she murmured, her eyes wide with awe. He smiled and put the violin back in it's case.

"I wrote it for you," he stated simply. He straightened up, nearly jumping at the sight of her standing toe to toe with him.

"Thank you," she whispered. He cupped one cheek with his hand.

"No need," he countered.

Cause you were worth it.